


A Buck and Change Episode 17 or Promises, Promises!

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Humor, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-26
Updated: 1999-09-26
Packaged: 2018-11-10 20:29:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11134167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: While trying to alieviate Ray's stress by playing match-maker for Welsh, Fraser suffers horribly.This story is a sequel toA Buck and Change Episode 16 or Key In The Hand.





	A Buck and Change Episode 17 or Promises, Promises!

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

 

 

 

due South: A Buck and Change #17

Warning: M/M, R, Angst, matchmaking,  
and Fraser thinking he's a Yenta. Oy!  
Promise: Angst, matchmaking, and our lovely Lieutenant  
Harding Welsh!

A Buck and Change - Ep 17

or _Promises, Promises_

by Mitch Hudson

Thursday morning the tall raven-haired Mountie had back-up on his way to work. The green Riviera was parked outside his building and it hadn't just arrived. It had been there all night long. Without the weight of the collar under his jacket Fraser felt an odd sense of isolation. There was no physical reminder of his lover. That was his thought until he slid into the passenger seat. With a slight squint of his eyes and a puckering of his lips he shifted some of his weight off his derriere.  Hmm. That special soreness was definitely a physical reminder of Ray. 

Ray saw his discomfort and snorted then chuckled. "I guess you won't try to be so insistent on a third fuc" 

"I don't think I need you to point out my excess this morning, thank you kindly. I'm fully aware of just how much pleasure you took in your roll as dominant partner in our," he paused to buckle his seatbelt as the Riv was steered into the flow of traffic, "our carnal relations last evening." 

"Then next Wednesday when the clock strikes midnight I wanna see if you remember to exercise a little restraint," the cop said with all-too smug an expression on his face. 

"You were torturing me, Ray. Withholding orgasm as you did was absolute torture. I truly didn't think it would matter to me that our agreement give me back my sexual self-rule from Wednesday, midnight until midnight Sunday, but at eleven forty-nine I *knew* better." He shook his left index finger at the driver who chuckled and ignored the gesture. The Mountie examined his reflection in the Riv's rear view mirror. "I look sallow," he exclaimed with dismay. "The inspector will be sorely disappointed in my performance today, I fear. I don't like to disappoint her, Ray." 

"Yeah well you could have just rolled over and gone to sleep at midnight when the collar came off. It was your choice to practically *attack* me like you did." 

"I hardly think my taking your testicular" He paused and rubbed his left thumbnail along his left eyebrow. "Ah. Fine, then." He sniffed and elevated his nose fifteen degrees. "Never let it be said that Benton Fraser can't admit when he's erred." As his lover parked at the consulate Fraser opened the door and as he began to rise, made a small gasp. "Oh, I'm sore in a most indelicate location. I hope I have guard duty for most of the day. I doubt I can sit for more than a few minutes at a time." 

Ray tried to suppress his laugh but ended up loudly snorting out guffaws as Fraser glared at him then left the vehicle. 

It did prove to be problematic, gently moving through the day while trying to spare his derriere any further trauma. He wanted that part of his anatomy well rested in preparation for spending another fulfilling night with Ray. But during his long shift at guard duty Fraser found no peace while reflecting on Ray's continued troubling state of mind. His worry over Sofia's romantic pursuits was causing him considerable stress. And that stress, Fraser almost grimaced, was resulting in a sore ass. For him. 

Ray seemed to take some of his frustration out during their coupling and while quite honestly Fraser had *loved* every moment of it and was . . . *amazingly* eager to repeat the encounter as soon as possible . . . Fraser realized he'd lost his train of thought! How unlike him! Pondering one's derriere and the many and varied uses such could be employed for was a terribly distracting past time. Oh yes. Ray's stress. Yes, Ray did seem to effectively relieve stress during boisterous coupling. And that was extremely delightful. Was that the problem Fraser had wanted to ponder? Without moving any other muscles Fraser allowed his right eyebrow to rise precisely three centimeters. 

Ray's frustration, he mentally ticked off. Over Sofia's romantic entanglements, he ticked off point two. Ray's level of stress affecting their relationship. Ray alleviating that stress through boisterous love-making. Yes! Now his keen mind was back on track! And that boisterous love-making was resulting in Fraser's decided drop in efficiency. There. Problem stated. The eyebrow returned to its correct and equiliberal position. 

Once he had a clear understanding of the problem it would be quite simple to solve it! After all, he *was* a Mountie! 

*** 

"Sir?" Fraser voiced a verbal inquiry, simultaneously asking Lt. Welsh for egress as well as some of the man's time. 

Welsh glanced up from his desk and turned back to his sandwich making. "What is it, Constable? Are we under invasion from some foreign power? Or is there a dog food case you want investigated today?" 

"Neither." He stepped just inside the office door but held it open with his left hand. "I am happy to report that America's shores appear to be safe today and as to the local dog food manufacturers, I checked on their production qualities less than a week ago and found everything in tip-top shape. No sir, today I do not come on a quest for justice. Rather I come in search of the heart. I mean," he hastily added, "a quest for a judge in a pasta contest. My good friend, Miss Hattie Wilder, of the New Hampshire Wilders, is conducting a charity cook-off and I had hoped to persuade you to consider aiding her with your educated palate." 

"My educated palate is busy, Constable. Your . . . dowdy little Miss Hattie will have to find guinea pigs some place else." 

Fraser smiled and stepped further into the room. Clearing the doorway he revealed a woman who'd been waiting behind him. "I have, in the past, been one of the lucky judges in . . . " he continued to speak as Lt. Welsh caught sight of the woman. 

Artfully framed by the office doorway was a lovely middle-aged woman of grace and dignity. She stood just at six feet tall in her pumps, precisely the same height as Constable Fraser would be had he been wearing the same shoes. The floral print scarf around her neck set off the blue of her eyes, the exact shade Constable Fraser's eyes would have appeared had he been wearing seafoam eye shadow. And her dark auburn hair glowed in the room's diffuse light, just as Constable Fraser's hair would have glowed had he been wearing a shoulder-length auburn wig. She wore a simple dress of muted green under a teal duster which set well on her broad shoulders, shoulders as precisely broad as the Constable's. 

"Pardon me," Welsh interrupted Fraser as he rose and left his smorgasbord. "Have we met before? I seem to recall you coming in here before asking for one of my detectives." 

"I don't believe so," Hattie said with a studied tilt of her head. "I'm sure I'd remember encountering a gentleman of such distinction as yourself," she said in a husky, low and amazingly demure voice. Graciously she held her hand out to him. 

He took it and cradled it in his own for a moment before drawing her into his office. "Dismissed, Constable," he said without sparing Fraser a glance. "I hear you're doing charity work and need volunteers?" 

"Yes. I'm looking for a man. A man who likes good pasta and tomato sauces, that is." 

Fraser discretely withdrew, his mission accomplished. "That should eliminate a great deal of his stress, I'd say." 

"Who's stress," Ray asked with a smile as he popped around the corner and slid up behind Benny. "You now providing stress relief to the world at large? Cause I gotta tell ya that's a big job." He perused the contents of a folder he held as Fraser followed him to his desk. 

"I think you may have misunderstood me, Ray. Or perhaps I was speaking metaphorically." Fraser smiled with great satisfaction as he dodged along behind in Ray's wake. "By the way I think the lieutenant will not be calling on your mother any longer. I believe he has a new girlfriend." 

At his desk Ray came to an abrupt halt and turned to his lover, gracing the man with a wide smile. "Really? That's great news." He promptly shut the folder he'd been studying and dropped it onto an untidy pile of like-items by a little statue of Liberty and hooked a hand through the Mountie's crooked elbow. "Lets go check out the station's supply of . . . rubber bands." 

He hustled the Mountie through the bull-pin to a dimly lit hallway and opened the door to the supply closet. Detective Jack Huey sprang back from an entangled embrace with a feminine figure who stayed mostly obscured in the shadows and gaped at the two intruders. "What the hell? Vecchio, don't you know how to knock?" He grabbed the door handle from Ray and pulled it shut. 

Ray stood in the hall, blinking in surprise and staring speechlessly at the closed door. 

Fraser stood silently at his lover's side for several minutes then tapped on the man's shoulder. "Ray?" 

"But . . . but that's *our* closet," Ray protested weakly. "That's . . . that's *our* closet. He has no right to use *our* closet. Where're we gonna make out . . . " Ray closed his mouth and furtively glanced around. "How could Jack just *take* our closet like that?" 

"Perhaps Detective Huey felt we had no proprietary claim on the wardrobe" his words were jarred from exiting his mouth when his body was propelled down the hall. 

Ray hastily exited the precinct building. "Get in the car," he ordered, not pausing to see if Fraser was complying. 

With a tiny grin Fraser stood at the passenger door, hat in hand and waited. 

Ray slid in behind the wheel, turned the ignition and brought the Riv's engine to a roaring start and finally realized his passenger wasn't in a passengerial position yet. He scrambled out and yelled over the roof of the green vehicle. "Get. In. The. Car." 

"Perhaps I should exercise my prerogative and refuse to go with you at this moment. I believe I have a complete understanding of your desire, the goal you will be seeking when you have me in the car with you. The plan you're working on is seeking out an alternate place of solitude, is it not? One where you will not be thwarted by the presence of another detective?" 

Ray gaped at the man in red. "You're . . . you're . . . This is payback, isn't it?" he demanded. "For last night! I swear, Benny, you're gonna make yourself *way* sorry come midnight Sunday when it's time for me to snap that collar back on you." 

the tiny smile that had been playing across the Mountie's lips got perceptibly wider. "Oh? You know Ray, I had thought that relieving stress from your life would save my derriere from over-exuberant and forceful invasions but I see that I was wrong. Twice wrong, actually. First, I want the forceful invasion, and second, I don't think stress plays much of a significant roll in the sexual dominant nature you display." He allowed the smile to show fully now. 

Wha? I . . . I never . . . Benny! What the . . . " Ray huffed. "Are you getting in the car so I can drive you home or are you gonna spend the night here at the precinct?" 

"If this is your attempt at asking me on a date then your manners are sorely lacking. You've neither *asked* me, nor have you made the slightest effort toward opening the car door for me. Tell me, Ray, are you taking me for granted?" 

Ray gaped again. "I don't believe this. All I want is a little  action and I get attitude instead. And what the hell is it with this prim and proper act, huh? All of a sudden you're Miss Priss? Miss Virgin School marm?" He added a few expletives under his breath. "And what is all this talk about my sexual dominant nature" Ray suddenly realized he was standing on the sidewalk fifty feet from the front entrance of the twenty-seventh precinct house. He clamped his lips together and glared around. Fortunately there were no felons being ushered in or out of the building, no patrolmen entering or exiting, no distraught citizens seeking help from their local law enforcement's establishment at that precise moment. 

With a heavy sigh Ray leaned against the Riv. "I think," he tried for the calmest tone he could imagine, "that you and I," and reasonable, "should go somewhere," and quiet, "and talk about these issues," and non-aggressive, "and see if we have some things to work through. Whadda ya say, Fraser?" After a moment of silence Ray tried one of those flash-quick grins Welsh always used on the Captain. "I promise you, I won't take any stress out on your . . . derriere." 

Fraser flashed a grin back at him. "Is this a date? If so I think you should open my car door." 

"*No!*" Ray swallowed then huffed in an amazing likeness of the Puffin face Fraser was so fond of. "Sorry. I didn't mean to yell. No, its not a date. Lets just go talk in private, okay?" 

Perhaps it was Ray's honest appeal. Perhaps it was his heart-felt apology. Perhaps it was his openly loving demeanor. But more likely it was the Puffin face that got Fraser to get in the car with him. 

* 

Alone in a dingy apartment on the third floor of a slum on West Racine, behind that very well bolted door, Ray apologized again. He did it with elegance, sophistication, tenderness and his tongue.  That sore spot he'd made on Fraser last night got a lot of oral attention. The intent to honor his promise was valid, however Fraser's delicate nether region did receive further stress. Most welcome stress. 

The next day unfortunately thoughts of the kindness he'd received from the detective followed him all through his day and the Constable had even more difficulty standing guard and maintaining a straight, flat lay of the lower front of his tunic. And equally unsettling was the realization that no amount of stress reduction was going to lessen Ray's arduous love-making. If things continued on their present course this work condition, either the soreness while sitting, or the stiffness while standing, would plague Fraser forever. 

Perhaps, the Mountie reflected, he had mis-identified the problem? 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The end of another suspenseful . . . Okay, maybe there's no suspense  
and there hasn't exactly been a lot of shot-em-up kind of action but  
there's been some pretty respectable sex, eh? So . . . The end of another  
sultry episode of A Buck and Change. Tune in again for Episode #18, or  
Mask-erade!

9/26/99   
Gentle reader, I have again returned my attention to this series after a long sabbatical. Many of you have endured, staying with me through the times when my minuscule attention span expired and my efforts were focused elsewhere.  Thank you to all who have written words of encouragement about this series.  I love to hear from people who are enjoying the effort I put into this.  Please write me at the address listed below.  I want to know your thoughts on A Buck and Change. Thank you kindly. 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

End

Disclaimer: This story is written for the private entertainment  
of fans. No infringement of any copyrights held by Alliance Communication,  
CBS, CTV, or any others is intended. This story is not published for  
profit, and the author does not give permission for this story to be  
reproduced in any form. The author makes no claims on the characters  
or their portrayal by the creation of this story.

Mitch_H@hotmail.com

geocities.com/soho/lofts/5843/mh-fict.htm

  


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